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“I sleep naked,” he murmurs.
Fuck a duck. How do I get out of this?
CHAPTER 4
James
Even a five-mile run doesn’t dampen the ache in my balls. I’m bursting as I imagine her tight little body wrapped around my girth. I was thankful Rodney Bellotti, my best friend and teammate, decided to come over after I called to tell him I wouldn’t need his hospitality after all.
We run together a few times a week anyway and my mom thinks of him as a second son, so he jetted over to say congratulations and goodbye before she and Tanner headed off to the airport.
It’s been hella uncomfortable because I was running next to Rodney who is now bent over, hands braced on his knees as we pant in the driveway of Mom’s place, his black Suburban parked next to my truck.
“You gotta save something for the game, man. You’re a maniac today, what’s your fucking deal?”
I walk in a small circle, staring at the upstairs window of the guest bedroom where Nancy was when I left for our run, hands on my hips, my torso bare and sweat covered even in the coolness of the November afternoon.
“Nothing.” I swipe the back of my hand over my forehead and feel the twitch in my dick when I see a flash of her moving behind the sheer curtains upstairs.
“Nothing, my ass. Don’t lose your focus, man. You’re right there.” He makes a motion with his fingers like he’s pinching a pea. “You gonna be the team’s youngest captain if you stay frosty and don’t fuck up. You know the coach is ready to make the call next month before playoffs. If you fuck this up and that fucking asshole Harold gets it, I’m coming for you myself.” He jabs a finger at me, straightening up and brushing his damp hair back over his head.
Rodney and I played against each other in our youth leagues before we were both pulled onto theminor league team, The Vipers, out of Seattle. From there, it was like we were a matched set. He got pulled into the NHL out of Detroit, but that didn’t last and then we both made it onto the Savages.
He’s got about fifty pounds on me but is built more like a brick wall. Six inches shorter and trying to knock him over is like throwing yourself into a five hundred year old sequoia.
“I got this,” I assure him, but all I can think are filthy thoughts about the little blonde cupid doll that’s my new stepsister. Her blue eyes are like some honeymoon lagoon in Bora Bora and if I can’t stop picturing her naked, my boner is going to be bringing my friendship with Rodney to a new level.
A level I don’t need. Or want.
I pinch my nose on a sniff and nod toward the garage. “Come on, water? Gatorade?”
He shakes his head. “Water, I got my LMNT packs in my bag. Don’t drink that chemical poison, man. You gotta clean up your diet. Go paleo.” He does a double bicep curl as we walk toward the open garage. “I feel better than ever.”
“I like carbs.”
“And high fructose corn syrup? You know how they make that shit, man? It’s chemical arsenic. Here.” He opens the back of his Suburban as we pass and pulls out two packs then jogs to catch up to me as I pull out two spring waters from the refrigerator. “Use this. It’s got all the electrolytes you need. And salt. You need salt. Did you know, there’s sodium in semen? You don’t want your balls producing substandard swimmers, do you?”
I cough as he dumps the little packet into my water, then hands it to me. “I don’t want you even thinking about my swimmers, got it?”
He laughs, then puts a packet in his water, shakes it up and guzzles it down.
I take a sip and gag. “Jesus, this is just like drinking ocean water.”
“Yeah.” He nods on a smile. “Salt, it’s good for you. Drink.”
“Nasty,” I answer, but drink it anyway. I need the fucking distraction because my nuts are drawing up tight and the twitch in my dick isn’t going away. “I gotta piss,” I say, nodding toward the entry into the house from the garage and rolling my neck around as I walk that way.
Inside, her fucking little floral and sugar scent is in the air and out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of the back of her black hoodie as she turns the corner of the kitchen into the family room.
“Who is that?” Rodney says, lips in a smirk as I point a finger at his face.
“Nobody.”
He rolls his eyes, bobbing his head as he falls onto one of the bar chairs at the kitchen island. “You have someone in your house and you don’t know who it is?”
